expectations of grandeur

Today I left calculus office hours and walked into the elevator. As the doors closed I took a deep breath. You see the elevator smelled just like every other elevator I've been on. So I closed my eyes.

When I closed my eyes I envisioned the grandest elevator rides in my short life. Like an elevator ride to the top of the Empire State Building. Or the elevators in a hotel at the beach in Jamaica. In that brief period of time I drew up a completely different scenario than the reality I was in. I envisioned myself in swimming trunks and sandals. I could sense a bellhop next to me, his dark black skin a wild contrast to the all white hotel uniform he adorned. When I exited the elevator I had to be sure not to bump into his cart loaded from top to bottom with a family's luggage.

And just as quickly as I built it up it was gone. I wasn't in a beautifully decorated hallway of a hotel. There was no ornate carpet at my feet. Instead there was a grey linoleum floor leading me out to the rainy street so I could walk back to my dorm.

In the 15 seconds I was on that elevator I was able to construct a new world of sorts. All based off of the smell that presented itself to me upon entering. As quickly as I drew it up reality wiped it away.

That's okay though. That's life. Grandeur isn't permanent. Or maybe it is. Maybe there is something grand about the dull grey elevator and linoleum flooring. Maybe it's grandeur comes from it's ability to morph into something beautiful. Even if it is only momentary.

We build mental constructs of the things that please us. Certain smells, sights, and sounds bring about these memories and allow us to relive them.

In that moment on the elevator I was 17 again. I was in Jamaica and there was nowhere I'd rather be. The fact that it only lasted a few moments isn't bad. It showed me how much more there is. It showed me that the past is all around me along with the present.

Our everyday lives are filled with slivers of our past, large chunks of our present, and shimmers of our future. These slivers, chunks, and shimmers embody who we are and give way to who we will become.

A scent might remind you of a certain place or person. Or maybe a certain person in a certain place under certain circumstances. But times change and scents stay the same. Memories fade and life goes on. That's the way it is. Time, and elevators, wait for no man. (Unless you're one of those people who continually press the "door open" button).

Make your own grandeur and smile about it.

NP: Californication- Red Hot Chili Peppers

the boy

There once was a boy. A boy not so different from any other boy in most respects. Craft of the same fabric, filled with the same stuffing, and raised in the same manner. Born into a world too big to understand. Thrown about in different conflicts and situations that over time made him who he was. Made strong and weak by those around him and those events he so often engaged in. The boy thought he knew it all. He would hear people speak, he could even tell them exactly what they said, but hearing and listening are two different things.

He heard their warnings but he failed to heed them. He heard their cries for change but he chose to listen to himself. A free thinker who followed his own beat. An uncertain boy with morals who oftentimes broke.

In other words he was just like everyone else.

And at the same time so very different.

A wise doctor once told the young man that when you're young you want to be wanted. And that when you've grown, you want to be cared about. He said that some people have a tough time growing and maturing enough to let themselves be cared for. The doctor said that a heart not cared for is a heart that belongs to no one, not even the person who's chest it resides in. To control your heart you must fill it with love and care.

The boy heard but he didn't understand. He listened but he was unaware that people didn't want care. He grew up in an environment where being wanted wasn't worth a damn and where care was real and care was right.

The boy didn't understand how want could exceed care so he turned to the doctor again to seek advice. The doctor told the boy, "Some people are always looking for a better deal." To this response the boy's face became puzzled. "Isn't searching for a better deal a good thing? My mom told me never to settle," replied the boy. The doctor sat back in his chair and chuckled. "It's simple, my boy," he started, "it deals with maturity...because being cared for takes heart, trust, and selflessness. Things not acquired with age, but acquired with growth."

As the boy laid his head back and closed his eyes he began explaining in his own words, "It's about taking responsibility, isn't it? It's the idea that being cared for means letting another person in. Which means that you're responsible for not only what you feel, but what the person who cares for you feels as well. So before someone can learn to be cared for they have to care about themselves. They have to respect themselves....and come to think of it that only covers the topic of letting someone care for you...it takes even more to care for another. Yeah, that must be it."

When he finished his piece and opened his eyes he saw the doctor was no longer there. He climbed off the couch and went to his room. Another afternoon spent processing, thinking, questioning the world that confused him so.

NP: The Boxer- Mumford and Sons

belated birthday

So for those of you who might not know, my 19th birthday was this past Friday. I thought that 19 was a pretty insignificant number, but in fact it's my last year as a teenager. (Doesn't seem too important, does it?)

Well it's another year which is more than a lot of people will get. I'd like to thank everyone who wished me a happy birthday through whichever medium they chose. Special thanks to Pap, Aunt Maureen, Mom, Dad, Moose, Julia, and Amanda for taking the time to call me and wish me a happy birthday. That means a lot to me, so thank you for it.

I had an awesome birthday weekend. One of the best weekends in recent memory.

I'm finding my niche here and I'm making some good, new friends. I like hanging out with Jared's hockey teammates. They're really laid back guys who don't seem to mind a non-hockey player tagging along.

I scheduled classes for next year and I made it out with no classes on Friday which is pretty cool. It's like an extra day of the weekend now.

Other than that my birthday came and went as it has every year. I don't feel any older. I don't feel any wiser. Just feel a little, well I feel a little something.

I feel excited for school to be done in 17 days and I'm ready to go visit my friends at Fordham. I'm ready to see my family this weekend and I'm ready for my last calc exam to be done. I'm ready for things to not be over my head anymore. I feel like I always have these exams and papers lingering over my head makes it hard to think about anything else.

I'm ready for long summer nights doing whatever I want. Doing what makes me happy. That's what I want.

College life is great right now, but I'm ready to work a job and have other obligations.

I'm ready to turn in the pens and paper and take up a less mentally taxing job.

I'm ready for some summer fun.

NP: Let's Go- Matt & Kim

Baby Girl

That used to be my little sister's favorite song. "Dear mom and dad please send money. I'm so broke it ain't funny." She used to play that song on a little, pink Barbie radio that held 1 CD. It was Sugarland and Avril Lavigne for Jenny.

That's who this blog is for. In 10 minutes my little sister won't seem as little. She'll be 16 years old. She will get to celebrate the one day every year where she is only 2 years younger than me.

It's pretty cool having our birthdays so close to each other. Hell, it makes remembering her birthday a cinch. We're diamond birthdays.

If I had to describe us we're probably the most roughed up diamonds you can find. We're rough around the edges and a bit hardened, but at our core is the same shining qualities any other diamond possesses. We're quite a dynamic pair who can, and have, fought like enemies. At the end of the day though, she's one of the few people who really get me.

Today Greg told me that he thought I'm probably more like my mom than my dad. (I agree in a lot of respects.) Then he asked who Jenny was more like.

That question stumped me.

Jenny isn't really like anyone and at the same time she's like us all.

She shares my mom's love of reading.

She shares my dad's stubbornness.

She shares my athleticism. (I'll still beat her in a race though.)

And then in a lot of ways she isn't like any of us.

She's outgoing as hell and could make friends in a room full of strangers. Actually I'll take it to another level; Jenny could make friends in a room full of psychopathic strangers. She's just that kind of girl. She has a way about her where people just gravitate to her. She's fun to be around.

My sister has been through a lot in 16 years. She's seen a lot of bad and she's done a lot of good. I like to think she still looks up to me from time to time.

At 18, almost 19 years old, I look up to my little sister in a lot of ways. I'm also her biggest fan.

She's so full of life and at the same time she loves nothing more than curling up on the couch with a full package of Oreos and not getting up until they're gone.

She's a conundrum of a person.

I've tried my hardest to let her live her own life and make her own mistakes. I don't pry, I only ask from time to time how she's doing and where she's at in life.

She's in a good place. She's doing well for herself.

Don't get me wrong, she can be a bitch, but I love her just the same.

I hope that this birthday and all of her birthdays yet to come are, for lack of a better term, "sweet."

Love you Jennifer Nicole.

NP: Baby Girl- Sugarland

take a step back

I think my Uncle Mike lost sight of how much the world had to offer.

The oldest of six brothers and sisters and the only one with a college degree. That was my Uncle Mike. My dad has told me numerous stories about their childhood together and all the things they got into. My dad told me that Uncle Mike was the scrappiest of the group.

I've written my dad's story on here a thousand times, but today I'll share Uncle Mike's story. Or at least the part of it that I know. 

Uncle Mike is a couple years older than my dad and did a lot of the same activities growing up. Uncle Mike had his bachelor's degree in education from Pitt and even did some substitute teaching. But like my dad he had a dark past. My uncle's drug of choice wasn't alcohol though. 

I don't know when it began and I can't tell you when he stopped, if he ever stopped, or anything else of that sort. Other than substitute teaching Uncle Mike didn't really have a profession. Summers at the cabin, back when he would come up, Uncle Mike would always have on long sleeves. No matter the heat he always had his arms covered. The extra cloth hid his secret from those of us too young to understand. Dad told me that Uncle Mike used to make money caddying and golfing against people. Supposedly he was a real natural at it and was a heck of a golfer. 

In the latter part of his life Uncle Mike bounced around in different apartments in the Pittsburgh area. He had distanced himself from our family thanks to his drug addiction and the only real time we would see or hear from him was at Thanksgiving or Christmas. My uncle wasn't a bad person, he was a lost soul. My uncle did a lot of wrong, but even he had a shot at a silver lining. 

The last time I saw my Uncle Mike was at my grandmother's funeral. Clad in a suit and tie, it was the first time I saw him in anything other than sweats or jeans. At the time It never crossed my mind that I would never see my uncle again. 

Sadly, Uncle Mike didn't find his silver lining, but I know he had one. No matter how far gone he was, no matter how hard he hit rock bottom, no matter what he thought...he had one. 

My wish for my Uncle Mike is that in death he will rest easier than he did while living. 

He deserves that. 

NP: Little Lion Man- Mumford & Sons

passion? anybody? ...anybody?

This world we live in seems to be grooming apathetic people. It seems that college doesn't encourage people to be passionate about something, instead it asks them to complete "gen eds" and graduate with a degree that is "marketable." I say take your gen eds and marketability and shove them.

If every person followed their dreams and focused solely on that, then in time we would have professionals in every single field. If every discouraged painter and poet followed their dreams the world would be filled with a lot more beauty.

Not just beauty in the sense of beautiful paintings and poems, but the sense of beautiful people. I'm not talking about beauty in the sense of looks or "the inside" of a person. I'm talking about a type of beauty that comes along very rarely. The most natural, raw type of beauty there is. People being inspired by someone else's passion.

I can't take credit for all of these thoughts. I'm merely regurgitating what the brilliant Alan Watts has already said.

You might think it silly, that every artist can't actually become an artist, but I say why not? What makes a great artist? It's the same thing that makes a great teacher, a great writer, a great mathematician, and a great outdoorsman. It takes practice and dedication. It takes passion. Passion. Passion. Passion.

Find it. If you can't find passion in something then YOU ARE DOING SOMETHING WRONG.

Here's a video I encourage every single one of you to watch. Really listen to what he says. Watch it over and over again until you find what it is you would do.

Please, I beg you to find your passion. Hone it and inspire someone with it. Make the world beautiful.

NP: We Are Young- Fun.

every great blog doesn't need a great name

Figure out what you're worth and never deviate from that belief. Not unless somebody comes along and proves that you've made an error in judgement, that in fact, you're worth more than you thought. Don't let them tell you, though. Make them show you. Don't let them attempt to undermine your belief either. You are you and you know you. Label yourself accordingly. Don't kid yourself but don't cheat yourself. Be honest. No, be brutally honest. Figure out your worth and then learn how to love yourself. Because before you can ever successfully love another you must love you. If you have a tough time doing so rest assured that you are loved. By someone, somewhere, you are loved more than you know.

I promise.